


Serenity. Courage. Wisdom.

by chimneysmoke (recension)



Category: 30 Rock, Community
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recension/pseuds/chimneysmoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <i>30 Rock/Community,</i> Britta/Floyd, her first job after she (finally) graduates Greendale is working as a counselor at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in New York; she's not very good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenity. Courage. Wisdom.

**Author's Note:**

> Very VERY soft spoilers through Community s03e15.

_God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._

Britta dabbed at her blouse with a damp brown paper towel, glancing down at the coffee stain that _would not_ come out and the reflection that showed that stubborn stain from a different angle. She took a deep breath and tossed the paper towel into the trash. She clipped back a stray blond tress with a bobby pin, ignoring the light brown splotch she'd only really made worse.

"I am a competent, qualified session administrator. I can help people who want help. I am more than a set of tits and a coffee stain," she murmured to herself, picking her bag up off the bathroom counter, steeling her reserve as she pushed open the door and turned, heading down the stairs to the basement of St. Ignatius Loyola of the Upper East Side.

_Courage to change the things I can._

Floyd poured himself a cup of coffee, milling around the front of the meeting room as his normal group filed in. It was his last day as a counselor at St. Ignatius Loyola. Years of the same beleaguered midday faces and similarly troubled souls had given him purpose. It felt good to help. AA was a home. 

When the organization had requested he move to a larger meeting, taking over for a retiring counselor, Floyd felt obligated to agree. Sobriety had done so much for him. He settled in at the podium, taking a sip of his coffee before calling the meeting to order.

"As many of you know, this is my last meeting here at St. Ignatius'. I had hoped my replacement would be here to meet you all but it seems she's running a bit late," Floyd spoke, looking out at the seated members.

Britta shot up in her chair, standing sharply, red-faced. She knew she shouldn't have sat down. "Whoops, sorry. Hi, everyone," she blushed. "My name is Britta."

"Hi Britta," the room murmured in routine.

"No! No, I, uh," she quickly shuffled to the front of the room. "I'm not an alcoholic," she insisted. "Not that there's anything wrong with being an alcoholic," she quickly added. "I know I've had my share of problems with addiction. I watched, like, 4 seasons of _Lost_ the weekend I finally got Netflix, so..."

Floyd cleared his throat, cutting the overzealous young counselor off before she really put her foot in her mouth.

"I'm the interim counselor. I'll be taking over these meetings from..." she trailed off, looking to the cute man standing beside her, flashing him a nervous smile. He seemed to be one of those guys who had their shit together. If it wasn't for where they were meeting she would probably just assume he was some everyday narcissist or insufferable Type-A. Somehow knowing he was a recovering addict made him just wounded enough to be interesting.

"Floyd," he supplied, thrusting a hand in her direction. She shook the hand with a strong shake.

"Glad to have you here, Britta," Floyd assured her with a charming grin.

Britta settled into a seat in the front row letting Floyd conduct the meeting. After a few stories of people in crisis, Britta found herself proud that she had taken this job and put off grad school. She actually had a chance to help people. When it came time for the meeting to come to a close, Floyd brought her back up to the podium to finish up the meeting with a few parting words and the Serenity prayer.

Britta looked out over the group that was assembled in the basement of a church on a Tuesday lunch break and tried her best to not put her foot in her mouth as the words just gurgled up from within her. Her eyes flicked from person to person as she spoke. "As I said earlier, I am _not_ an alcoholic. But I am no stranger to self sabotage and wavering will power. The struggles you are going through are struggles I am equipped to advise on partially because of my Bachelor's degree from a second rate community college and partially because I myself am a bit of a notorious fuck-up."

She paused, trying to recenter her argument. "In fact, I've never been very good at much of anything except being a friend. So if anyone in this room ever needs a friend, I'm happy to give out my number. Whenever you're feeling weak, or lonely, I can be there. I think it's really amazing that you've all made recovery a priority in your lives and I just want to help."

She sheepishly let her gaze fall to the scuffed wood of the podium. "And now we'll recite the Serenity prayer..."

_And the wisdom to know the difference._

Floyd gave out a few hugs and handshakes as the meeting room cleared out, giving away the last few cookies and clearing the Styrofoam cups into a stack. 

"Do you know who I talk to about switching to recycled paper cups?" She found herself asking him, brushing crumbs from the table.

"No, I don't. Maybe Sister Margaret, she is the one who handles the meeting schedules," Floyd gave a soft, apologetic smile as he tossed away the last stray soiled napkin. "You did a really great job up there, by the way."

Britta felt her cheeks flush a the compliment. "Thanks I was afraid I'd totally 'Britta' it."

"You're a verb?" he asked, amused, turning his attention to her fully. She was quirky as hell, but in a charming way. Adorable to boot.

"Yeah, uh, my friends coined it. It means 'to make a tiny, forgivable mistake'," she defined, knowing full well it wasn't the truth and he probably didn't believe her.

Floyd smiled, noticing the coffee stain on her blouse. She apparently 'Britta'd' quite a bit. "Listen, would you like to go grab a cup of coffee or something? A decent cup of coffee, I mean. Nothing like this," he gestured to the empty carafe.

"...You aren't a carny or anything are you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can tell me, I've heard it all. Hamster breeder? Genocidal Bosnian soldier?"

"Uh," Floyd chuckled somewhat confused but graciously judging it as part of her charm. "No. Actually, I'm a lawyer."

Britta resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "One of my best friends is a lawyer. He's a total jag."

"You date him?" He found himself asking, sensing the hostility behind her statement.

"Just sex. Briefly. He was a jag before the sex," Britta murmured, picking up her handbag, tugging the strap onto her shoulder. "I am new to New York again though. Coffee sounds great. Actually, I saw a great bar down the street..." she casually stacked together the messy AA literature at the podium while he straightened the room's metal folding chairs.

Floyd raised an eyebrow, expecting her to notice her mistake. When she didn't, he found himself chuckling lightly. "Britta..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think a bar would be the best idea."

"Why not? It's five o'clock somewhere, am-I-right?" she grinned, turning around to catch his expression. Slowly, hers fell into embarrassment and flush again. 

"Oh. Yeah. Duh-doy," she murmured, rocking on her boot's heel. "Coffee then. Coffee sounds great."


End file.
